Flowers for the Dead
by Inspector Panderp
Summary: A re-imagining of the ever popular Dark Brotherhood quest "Whodunit."  Six guests locked in a manor in a search for gold. When one by one they start dropping like flies, it becomes obvious one of them's not who they've made out to be.  But who?


She really hated thunder and rain.

A flash of light streaked across the blackened sky overhead, followed by the characteristic crash-bang sort of sound that thunder carried.

The Imperial flinched.

Next thing she knew, the dribble had somehow turned into a pour. She cursed her luck, dashing through the cobblestone streets. And of all days to rain, too!

There was another low rumble.

Summitmist Manor loomed in the distance.

* * *

The right half of the ornate double-door entrance slid open with a creak. Hesitantly, she poked her head in, feeling somewhat self-conscious as her hair dripped all over the varnished wooden floor. From the entrance, she could see a dining room of sorts on one half, decked out with all sorts of delicacies. The room itself was lined with huge book-cases filled with expensive knick-knacks. A door sat by itself off to the side, perhaps leading to a bedroom or basement. To the left, from her angle, she could see part of a parlor; the corner of a fancy couch, an elaborate rug spread beneath it and a part of the polished table peeking out. Down the center – or what she could see unhindered by the door – were two staircases, slanting upwards towards each other, no doubt to the upstairs.

Thus far, no one in sight.

She breathed a sigh of relief, stepping fully into the room and shutting the door behind her. So she wasn't late.

"Hey!" a voice greeted loudly, slapping a hand on her shoulder. She gave a cry, jumping. The woman turned her head to face the owner of the voice.

A tall Bosmer with an easy-going sort of face stood before her, grinning widely.

"So, you're the last guest, huh?" Her heart sank a bit at finding that she was, indeed, late. "I'm Taenil!" The newly-dubbed Taenil reached out and shook her hand enthusiastically. "Who're you?"

It took her a moment to find her voice. "I'm, uh, Arian. Vilaine," she added as an afterthought.

"Nice t' meet ya, Arian. So, where you from? Somewhere nice, right?" the brunette asked, eyeing her dress appraisingly.

The Imperial waved her hands. "No, I… I'm just a poor woman with a sick child and husband at home."

Green eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" the Bosmer gushed, clasping both hands over hers and leaning in. "If I find the treasure, I'll split it with you!"

Arian backed up a bit, somewhat perturbed by the wood elf's extroverted attitude. "Um… Thank you kindly." She added what she hoped was a gentle smile for good measure.

Taenil beamed back in reply. "So anyways, if you don't mind me asking, course, how's a poor woman like you nab black and burgundy?" A sharp elbow jabbed her in the gut lightly. "Didn't steal it, did you?" she joked.

"No, I…" She paused, touching a hand to her cheek. "Well, it's the funniest thing, actually, and I suppose you'd like to know." Fair hands smoothed down elaborate fabric.

"I was just walking on the streets the other day when this man – Nord, I should think – walked up to me and told me all about the gold." Arian had begun to fiddle with her ring nervously. "I thought I could never fit in with all the other rich folk attending and I told him so and what did he do? He gave me this dress and a pair of velvet shoes and everything! Nine Divines, I'd never met a man so kind, bless his soul!"

"Hmph. A likely story."

Both women turned to see an Altmer coming down the stairs on the left, arms crossed. Taenil grinned.

"Well, here comes old Ondurin! Arian," she pointed to Ondurin, "this stingy old bag here is Ondurin Ondatto. Fancies himself one of the noble-folk. Ond'rin, this s' Arian Vilaine. Last guest, you see."

He scowled, pulling the fur collar of his burgundy coat up. "For your information, I _am_ part of one of the richest clans of Sommerset and it will do you good to remember that." Ondurin examined Arian critically, nose upturned and eyes hardly caring what they saw. "A man just gives an outfit," he ruffled the fur on his own, "like that to some random poor woman? Please, you're just a pity monger."

Arian opened her mouth to reply, offense quite evident in her eyes.

"Don't worry about him, Arian," the Bosmer interrupted with a laugh, pulling her towards one of the staircases. They climbed the first few steps. "He's just sore you look better in yours than he does in his."

"The last guest finally here, Taenil?" someone asked upstairs.

"Hit it on the head, Elias."

"Elias" appeared to be a young Imperial with a pleasant, handsome face, tanned from working in the sun.

"Hello. Name's Elias Dane. You?" he asked, leaning over the railing to get a better look at her. Oh good. Someone who was at least a bit normal.

"I'm Arian Vilaine. A pleasure to meet you."

"And you." He turned from the railing as the two ascended the rest of the flight. "We've been waiting for the last person for a while now. Glad to see you finally arrived."

Arian tucked a lock of red behind her ear, a little shamefaced. "I'm sorry for holding you up like that. I'm not very good in the rain."

She took a quick look around the upper floor, making note of the small stairway that probably led to quarters, or some such thing. Around the corner of it, there was a small dining table, a silver bowl filled with apples sitting in its middle, beside a plate of sweetrolls. A bit further off, there was a large, latticed window made for sitting by, fogged from the rain. Smaller shelves stood on each side of the room, lined with books and, at the bottom of one, a steel short-sword and dagger. Beyond that, one side was simply an open space with only a drawer and rug to furnish it, and the other side was cut off, a sort of walkway made to overlook the parlor.

The young man smiled kindly, eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's fine. It gave me some time to get acquainted with the other guests."

"Ho _ho_…" Taenil giggled mischievously behind a hand. Arian could've sworn she saw the younger man flush a bit.

"It's – it's not like _that_!" he cried, glaring at the Bosmer. She continued to chuckle.

"Whatever you say," she replied airily, sauntering over to a table and grabbing an apple. The male Imperial growled and stalked off.

"Would you just be quiet?" a Nord in the corner hissed. Arian blinked, looking over at him. He was blind in his left eye, a long gash running through it. Grayed hair, once a darker blonde sat on his head like a mop, strands hanging in his face. With his arms crossed and burly figure standing tall, he made quite the intimidating image.

"That's Steid," Taenil whispered to her, apple to her mouth. "Steid the Stone-Cold. He's got the right name. Cold as ice, that one."

As if he heard, Steid turned his head and shot the two women a hostile look. Abashedly, Arian shifted her gaze to her companion, watching her eat the apple with carefully placed interest.

"I thought Bosmer were carnivorous?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"Oh, we are," Taenil answered between chews. "Why do you think I'm stuck in Bravil? Being an alchemist is fun, though…" She shrugged.

The Imperial woman chose not to answer, instead climbing the stairs she had seen earlier and opening the door. Stretched in front of her was a narrow hallway, doors lining each side. Considering the rest of the manor, it was rather plain, only a rug and a planter here and there. She took a few steps forward.

"Hello?" a soft voice called through wood. It sounded like a Breton, judging from the accent. "Is… is someone there?"

A head poked out from the second door on the left. The inquirer was very pretty, Arian decided in the quick once-over she gave her, with black hair braided and wound into a bun and a pale, heart-shaped face. The girl stared back at her with wide blue eyes.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry." The Breton stepped into the hall shyly, wringing a bit of her blue velvet skirt between her hands. "I – you must be the last guest. My name is, um, Marina Svelle. It-it's nice to meet you."

Instantly, she decided she liked this girl the most out of the rest of the outgoing or unsociable guests. She smiled gently.

"My name is Arian Vilaine. It's nice to meet you as well."

There was a period of awkward silence, Arian not knowing what to say next and Marina being too timid to even attempt it. The Imperial thought back to Elias and Taenil's conversation.

"Are you the one Taenil has been teasing Elias about?"

The Breton's face colored quite vividly, and she stammered out, "T-teasing Elias? Miss Taenil? Oh – oh, I…Oh, my."

Arian smiled. "So it's true. You and that young man…"

"Oh, no! It's nothing like that. I – he could never…" She lowered her gaze, finishing quietly, "He doesn't like me like that."

"But _you_ do," the older woman asserted.

"I… He _is_ very kind to me… Oh but, no one would ever – ever look at a mousey girl like me."

Turning to leave, Arian mumbled quietly, "Perhaps… But we shall see."

Marina was left staring wide-eyed after her.

* * *

"Hello?" Elias called, standing in the doorway. He entered the room, looking around. "Marina?"

There was the slick sound of blade meeting flesh.

He turned, eyes widening, mouth opening to yell.

The only audible sound was his body hitting the ground.

* * *

"Well, what I mean to say is that it could be anywhere. Treasures these days are now frightfully well hidden."

"_Or_ it could be so obvious we wouldn't 've even guessed. C'mon, Arian! We – "

"By the Nine Divines!"

There was a scream and a crash from the quarters. Taenil and Arian leapt out of their seats, chairs knocking over with a clatter, and raced to the stairs moments in time to see Marina stumble backwards out of the door and fall off the steps.

"What's a'matter? What happened?" Taenil queried urgently, helping the Breton up.

"Elias, he – he's! Oh, Stendarr," she sobbed, tears streaking down her cheeks, "be merciful."

"You don't mean that he's - ?" Arian gasped. The Bosmer stood, her countenance the most serious any of the guests had seen yet.

"I'll go check it out."

The three of them entered the upper quarters, Arian because she wanted to follow Taenil and Marina because she had something she needed to do. There was a stand knocked over, a planter shattered on the floor with the dirt pooling out of it like spilt milk from a glass.

Taenil glanced at the mess in the hallway briefly, before directing her attention to a room on the right, the door left agape.

"Elias's room," she noted grimly.

It was a gruesome sight. The young Imperial was sprawled out awkwardly on the floor, back up, the stab wound through his chest in plain sight. Blood soaked through the blue and green fabric of his shirt, collecting in a puddle on the ground.

They stood in silence, staring down at what was once a polite young man. Surprisingly, it was Marina who moved first, hand dipping into the pouch hanging off her hip to retrieve something.

The Breton knelt down by the body, gingerly tucking a five-petaled, violet flower next to his hand. Marina clasped her hands together, pressing them to her bowed head.

"Divines be merciful in your judgment," she whispered brushing her lips over the ring on her middle finger, tears dripped off her chin into the puddle of red. "Send Elias to heaven."

Arian came to her side, wrapping her arms around the girl in hopes of consoling her. Taenil stared at the purple flower intently.

"Marina… That flower, it's – achk!" The Bosmer choked, holding her stomach and crumbling to her knees. "Aagh!"

"Taenil!"

"Miss Taenil!"

Both rushed to her side, Marina stumbling a bit on the edge of her skirt.

"Nrgh…!" She reached out to Arian, spasms beginning to overtake her. "The…"

"Taenil?" The Imperial woman grabbed her trembling hand desperately, squeezing it. "Taenil!"

It was of no use. She had stilled.

Marina barely stifled another cry.

* * *

"You know," Arian murmured to the girl standing next to her, "you never told me what those flowers were for. I'm sure Taenil would have liked to know."

Marina looked at her, still pale as a ghost. Nervously, she began to wring her hands. "A-alkanet flowers. To honor the dead."

She glanced up sharply. "You knew there were going to be casualties?"

The Breton took a step back, shaking her head. "No – no! I-I could never…" Her gaze lowered. "I travel around Cyrodiil, per-performing chapel services for pilgrims and nomads. The flowers were a – a force of habit, I suppose."

Arian did not answer, moving away from the room they had laid Taenil down in. The Imperial went back down the stairs, nearly colliding with Ondurin as she did. The Altemer brushed his shoulder off, as if he had touched something unpleasant.

"Watch where you're going, peasant!" he snapped, straightening his attire out.

"You realize that two of us have been murdered?"

"Indeed. A fine thing, too," Ondurin replied, smirking at her incredulous expression. "Less competition, more gold. Now if you'll excuse me…"

The Ondatto walked off, his head held higher than usual.

"A greedy bastard," she muttered, voice full of contempt. "That's what he is."

"And that isn't all he is," the Stone-Cold added, from his corner. Arian moved closer.

"You think he did it?"

"Not a chance. He's all talk." He shot her a look. "That girl, however…"

"Marina can't have done it!" she protested immediately. "Someone from the outside, perhaps…"

"Please," he scoffed. "This place is sealed tight. Believe me, I checked."

"But she can't have!"

"And why not?" the Nord shot back. "A little convenient the boy said he was going to meet her when he died, isn't it?"

"That's not - !"

"_And_, for the majority of the hour, she was the only person up there. Plenty of time to do the job."

The Imperial woman scowled, hands clenching. "It can't have been Marina! She's a chapel-girl!"

"Priests can be surprisingly greedy," he commented. Arian wrung at her dress.

"I'm telling you, it has to be Ondurin then! That – that no good Altmer's as greedy as they come!" Hopelessly, she threw an arm in the direction he had gone, pleading written all over her face. "You saw the way he acted just now! No remorse!"

Steid stared at her, face stony. The two looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Where is that cur?"

She was a bit taken back by his sudden query, wracking her mind for an answer. "I… I don't know. Not upstairs. Why?"

"I don't trust people alone," he answered simply. "We know that Breton girl is holed upstairs with two corpses – she won't be going anywhere. But him… who knows what he's scheming."

"Should we… Should we look for him?" Arian suggested hesitantly.

"We split up. I'll take the right staircase, you take left." Without giving her time to reply, the tall Nord marched off.

The Imperial sighed, grimacing. Following his instructions, she went off to search for the troublesome Altmer.

* * *

"Damn it!" he cried, holding the sides of his head in frustration. "Damn it all! I was sure it would be down here."

Ondurin leaned against the stone-wall, cursing underneath his breath.

"You might not have, but _I_ certainly found what I was looking for."

He opened his mouth to scream a name that would never pass his lips.

_Sshhck!_

* * *

"Miss Arian!"

Said woman whirled around from her place in front of the main dining table. "Marina?"

The girl was breathless, panting somewhat. "I – I'm sorry. I… didn't want to be left by myself."

"It's fine. Come with me, I need to check the next room for Ondurin." She pushed open the door, looking down at the stairs before her.

When the two had finally gotten down to the actual basement, Marina could hardly hold in a scream.

Ondurin Ondatto sat at the base of the opposite wall, a knee tucked to his chest and a hand thrown over his stomach while the other rested on the ground. Blood painted his chest, a grotesque and blooming flower of crimson against the intricate gold patterning on his vest. Had it not been for the bloodstains, or his eyes, opened wide with a disconcerting, terrified look, they might've thought he was simply resting.

Arian swallowed thickly.

"That's it. You're here with me, and we know neither of us did it…"

"Divines, he…" the Breton whispered frightfully.

"Listen and listen very carefully to what I say," Arian said gravely. "We must kill him."

"Kill him?" she squeaked.

"We have to. If we don't – he'll… He'll kill us!"

"You're right!" the girl cried, a hand flying to her mouth. "But what should we… how should we go about – about _it_?"

"We'll need to…" She shook her head. "Just follow my lead."

They exited the basement.

* * *

Steid the Stone-Cold stood stock-still in front of the railing, gazing over the parlor. Footsteps _pit-patted_ behind him. The Nord turned to greet them, a somber expression in place.

"I know who the killer is," he said, giving each of them a critical eye.

"That's nice." Both women took a step forward. He backed up against the railing.

Something wasn't right.

"What're you doing?" Realization dawned on his face. "Fool! Don't you understand? The killer - !"

There was the sick noise of bones breaking. Arian looked over the rail. "The deed is done."

Marina collapsed to the ground, bursting into tears. "Divines – I've just – I've just! Be merciful, oh…" Her lithe frame quivered, hands coming up to cover her face.

"Shh." The older woman knelt beside her, slinging an arm over her shoulder. "It'll all be over soon. Just let me take care of the bodies." She stood, beginning to leave.

"W-wait!" the girl yelped, holding out a flower. "Please… Take this – to… him."

She only nodded.

* * *

Trying to touch as little of the blood as possible, Arian carefully laid him out straight. It was when her hand brushed the Altmer's coat that she noticed something. There, in one of the button-holes…

A five-petaled, purple flower.

"Impossible," she mumbled disbelievingly. "She never…"

Brushing her fingers over the long, pointed petals, she realized something terrible.

"This isn't alkanet!" she breathed, panic slowly beginning to wash over her as the weight of the situation sinking in. 'This is nigh - !"

_Schkk!_

Arian Vilaine glanced downwards to see an ebon blade, dripping with red, through her chest.

"Glad to see you finally caught on."

She landed with a thud.

* * *

"What a bother," Marina sighed, wiping the Blade of Woe on the peasant woman's dress. Smiling cruelly, she looped a flower through the Imperial's gold-braided belt. "Still, it looks like I didn't need that bonus after all…"

* * *

**A/N**:

_So, there you have it. Ignoring the cast, a few parts of the concept changed, and I decided to put a more realistic outlook on it. Each character does replace someone, though. Some are obvious, some not so. Two things I want to ask - how many of you knew right off the bat who the killer was? And how many of you can guess who replaces who?_

**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own the Elder Scrolls franchise, nor do I wish to infringe on its copyrights._

Like it? Hate it? Whatever the case, please - leave a review.


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